


Kintsugi

by Broken_Clover



Series: Unorthodox Love-Letters [2]
Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Emotional bonding, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 16:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14674632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broken_Clover/pseuds/Broken_Clover
Summary: Zappa and Axl stop in London on their search for Dr. Faust.





	Kintsugi

**Author's Note:**

> I'll admit, I'm not entirely sure where this pairing came from, but I saw some fanart of the two and thought it was adorable. I suppose the counterbalance of someone so confident and kind like Axl versus someone so insecure like Zappa is at least part of it?
> 
> Although, to be honest, I kinda just ship Zappa with about 75% of the cast to some extend. The boy needs some love. He gets put through so much insanity that I feel like he deserves a loving and supportive partner.

One thing that Axl had learned very quickly was that neither of them were heavy sleepers. Not even very good sleepers, at that. It was almost too rare that he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night, only to find Zappa awake in turn, staring off into the darkness.

At one point, he’d asked the man if it was nightmares. That was typically what woke him up, if not just memories of home.

 _‘No.’_ Had been the response. 

_‘It the ghosts givin’ ya trouble?’_

_‘Don’t know. Maybe.’_

That had been the end to the conversation. Zappa wasn’t always the most conversational, but it was odd to see him so quiet and subdued. Axl wasn’t even really sure how to talk to him when he got like that.

He had been willing to let it go for the time being, to let the guy handle his own problems without being pestered. Yet it only seemed like he had gotten worse recently.

The two of them had made it to London about a week ago. Axl had found a lead on Dr. Faust and insisted that he had a good feeling about it. The last few days had been spent wandering the streets, asking around and seeing if anyone knew anything. So far, no such luck.

The lack of success seemed to have been grating on his companion even more than usual. Aside from being quiet and irritable, there had almost been several incidents. One had even been right in the middle of public, slipping right under Axl’s nose when he was distracted talking to some cute local girls. Fortunately, he had managed to convince the officer that the screaming was fueled by nothing more than work stress, and retreated back to the motel as quickly as possible to bind up and chain the man to the wall until he stopped thrashing and shouting.

As annoying as it could be sometimes, Axl really didn’t blame the guy. Not one part of it had actually been Zappa’s fault. Sure, Axl still wasn’t sure whether or not he actually believed that ghosts had anything to do with it, but it was some sort of sickness either way, not something that he could control. Axl could keep a close eye, watching carefully for twitches and blackouts, but when the time came, nothing really could be done aside from holding him down or tying him up until the fit subsided.

Neither of them had come back before dusk that day. After a far too long afternoon plodding the streets, only to return empty-handed once more, both men were exhausted.

Axl had forgotten to remove his shoes as he flopped over onto the bed without a care. Zappa, on the other hand, did remember, but then ended up taking a nosedive directly into the carpet, not having enough energy to even make it to the bed. They had stayed in place for a while, content in tiredness, at least until Axl got bored and decided to call for takeout.

For the most part, they ate in silence. Axl wanted to offer some encouragement, a few positive words to get the Aussie hopeful for the next day of wandering, but one look at Zappa’s morose expression had warded him away from the idea.

The rest of the evening had followed a similar sort of quiet, with only a handful of words exchanged. If he was being honest, Axl would admit that it stressed him out. But he didn’t dare say anything about it. It all felt so uncomfortably tense. Being who he was, he’d considered breaking the uncomfortable atmosphere with some sort of joke, but seeing as how the only thing coming to mind were things like ‘hey, don’t worry, if we fail at this you’ll just be stuck with a dangerous, incurable condition for the rest of your life’ he doubted anything would be made better by it.

In the end, he’d just waited out until bedtime. It was the only thing he could think of. It was some sort of change, even if minor, and even if he knew it would only last a few hours at best before something woke him up.

As he laid down, he spotted Zappa watching him, dull expression belying a bit of intrigue. He tried to think of something to say, but before he could even open his mouth, the other man rolled over and went to sleep himself.

_‘Weird...hope he’s not feelin’ too shitty.’_

Faust had to be somewhere nearby, right? The lead was credible, and his intuition was strong. Yet here they were, days later without a single new bit of information. He just had to be somewhere. He couldn’t let Zappa down again.

++++++

He had to find Zappa, and quick. Axl wasn’t entirely sure how he’d slipped out in the middle of the night, but it didn’t matter. All he knew was that the longer he wasted time running around, more and more people were in danger.

It was all too easy to spot the trail of carnage. He couldn’t even tell how many people had been mauled, though, as it was rare to find any that weren’t torn to little bloody chunks and splattered across the alley walls. He could hear the sirens. He knew the police had already found the mess. As terrified as he was to find Zappa loose, he was even more afraid of what would happen if the cops got to him first.

The stench of blood became more and more overwhelming as he followed the shredded remains of people. Just the sight of it made him want to throw up, but he continued to run. Nothing could be done for them now. All he could do was go faster to try and keep it from happening again.

Axl found the man kneeling over in a dead end. The white fabric was soaked and dripping red, forming a puddle underneath his shivering body. He had his arms tightly wrapped around himself, as though terrified he was going to fly apart.

“...mate?” He knew the danger of approaching, but Axl couldn’t stop himself. The puddles of blood splashed as he approached, yet all he could think to do was help the man who had just massacred at least dozen people.

When he was close enough that his shadow fell over the hunched figure, Zappa uncurled, looking up at his companion with sheer, absolute terror.

“A-Axl?” His voice was splintered and frail. Just speaking made him shake harder. “Axl, I’m s-sorry…”

“Hey, hey. C’mere.” Axl kneeled down, extending his arms. He had to brace himself as Zappa all but threw himself at him, trembling fingers latching into his jacket with crushing force.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” His breath hitched, and he burst into sobs, burying his face into the Brit’s shoulder. “I-I didn’t want to hurt anyone- !”

“Shh, I know.” It felt rather ironic, considering that he was drenched in blood, the blood of people that he’d killed with his bare hands, yet Zappa felt like the most vulnerable thing there. Axl had no idea how they were going to deal with the mess when the police arrived, but for the time being, all he could think to do was hug back.

He should have been smarter. He should have known better. Zappa had trusted him, and he had failed again. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep.

And he should have known better than to get so close.

A rough pair of hands grabbed Axl by the throat. Before he could react, he was slammed into the ground with a force that made him gasp. When he opened his eyes, he saw Zappa pinning him down, wearing wide, blank eyes and a smile far too wide for his face.

“Hehehehehehe!”

“N...no…” Axl rasped. He reached up a trembling hand, but he wasn’t sure what he was trying to do. “You can’t-”

Zappa opened his jaws, and sank his teeth into Axl’s throat.

++++++

“Gah!”

Axl grasped at his neck, only to find that he was no longer being strangled. Through the panicked tunnel vision, he recognized the dull cream ceiling of the motel.

_'Shit...just a dream. It was just a dream.'_

The room was still dark, lit only by the slices of moonlight passing through the curtain. Glancing up at the wall clock, he realized that, despite the long day, he’d managed to wake up at three in the morning again.

“Ugh…” He groaned, rolling back onto his side. An arm was tossed over his eyes in an attempt to just go back to sleep again. He hated nightmares, especially with how jumpy they tended to make him. His heart was still racing.

Several minutes later, and he felt neither more relaxed or less awake. His heart still thudded in his chest, despite the fact that he knew that there was no danger.

In irritation, he opted to roll out of bed and meander off in search of something to drink. Nightmares had a tendency to make him thirsty. As he did, he noticed the other bed was empty, with the blankets haphazardly tossed off. Axl spotted a thin line of light being cast across the floor, leading to the bathroom door. 

Of course. The one time he needed to use the sink, it was occupied.

He lingered by the door, half-leaned up against the wall. The bathroom door wasn’t completely shut, but he couldn’t see much through the small slit. Not like there was much of a reason to do so, anyway. Just waiting for a turn.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and Axl felt himself growing annoyed. He wasn’t really that thirsty, but he wasn’t very good at waiting, either. He just wanted to be done so he could go back to bed and try to get a few more hours of rest.

“Oi. Mate.” He rapped his knuckles against the door, careful as to not make it swing open. “You asleep in there?”

His reply came in the form of a small gasp, a little throaty noise that he wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“Huh?” Axl could hear something being shifted around, fabric rustling. “D-don’t come in!”

Axl felt himself going a little red. Oh, geez. Not only was the sink occupied, but he’d almost walked in on his companion doing _that_ of all things. Not like he was one to judge, but it just didn’t seem very...Zappa-like. 

“Hey, don’t stop on my account.” He couldn’t stop himself from saying. “Didn’t mean to interrupt or anything, just needed a drink.”

“Oh…” The reply was still tense and quiet. “Um, sorry, I’ll try and hurry-”

“Hey, no worries. I can be in and out quick. You’re not naked, right?”

“Well, n-no, but- !”

“Promise I’m not lookin’.” Without hesitation, Axl pushed the bathroom door open and stepped inside. With the half-glance he managed, he spotted Zappa standing in front of the sink, still wearing pants but with his upper body exposed. But that wasn’t the part that made him pause in place, breaking his promise immediately to stare in shock. That had to be what was on the bare skin.

There were scars _everywhere._

It was hard to find a spot that wasn’t dominated by branching, spiderwebbing lines or thick, off-colored patches. All of them clashed sharply against one another in appearance, indicating a menagerie of different wounds that had all healed criss-crossed over each other into a mesh of scar tissue, pink and white and purple all knotted into a mottled mess.

When he had enough thought to look up, he saw Zappa staring back at him, eyes wide with horror.

“I-I...mate-”

“Don’t look at me!” He scrambled for the loose sleeves of his jumpsuit, trying desperately to cover himself up. “I-I told you not to come in!”

Axl took a step forward. “Mate-”

“Stop it! Stop looking at me!” In his distress, he was already tearing up.

“Just listen-”

“STOP!” Shaking fingers made it impossible to cover himself. He merely stood in place, trembling.

“Zappa.” Another step, and Axl wrapped his arms around him tightly. 

The tears quickly began flowing- loud, ugly, choked sniffs intermixed with the shaking. It was uncomfortable, it was awkward, and Axl only held on tighter. A firm but gentle hand stroked brown hair in a slow, repetitive motion. The scene felt so familiar that it hurt.

Axl had no idea how long it had been when the sobs began to fade. He put a hand on his companion’s shoulder and pulled back, looking him in the eyes. Zappa did not meet his gaze.

“What’s eatin’ you? What’s wrong?”

“Please...ju-just pretend none of this happened.” The weak tone was far too familiar. Axl wondered how many times he’d missed this happening before.

“Hell, no. It’s three in the morning and you’re cryin’ your eyes out. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Blue eyes welled up with tears again, and instinctively, Axl pulled in for another hug. This time, a pair of arms wrapped around his back and clung on tightly, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. Axl tried not to flinch. It had only been a dream the last time, and right now, Zappa needed him.

“I c-can’t stand this. I hate this.”

“Hey, hey…” Axl gave him another pat on the head. “Just gotta hold out a little more, I promise. We’ll find Faust.”

“N-no, not-” Zappa trembled harder, digging his fingers further into Axl’s back. “It’s _me_. I can’t stand myself.”

Axl’s face twisted in confusion. “What? Zappa, what are-”

“Look at me, dammit!” He roughly pushed away. He half-glared at the floor, keeping his arms at his sides to show off the full extent of his scar-covered chest. “Look at me! I’m disgusting!”

Axl reached out a hand to touch, but he thought better of it. “What happened?”

“What do you think?” The bitterness and disgust in his voice was completely unfamiliar to Axl. He’d never seen Zappa like this before. “All the stupid fights I get into without even knowing, all the injuries I keep waking up with...It keeps getting worse the longer I’m living like this. I-I just feel like I'm losing control more and more.”

Mentally, the Brit let out a silent prayer of thanks. None of the scars were his own doing. That much was a relief, however small.

“I’m sorry, mate. Why didn’t you tell me? I know you’re feelin’ self-conscious but you don’t have to tend to your own wounds all the time-”

“You don’t get it, do you?!” The glare was brought up, aimed directly at Axl. 

“Huh?”

“I-I...I’m not…” The anger faded, melting back into the all-too familiar nervousness and insecurity. “I’m not like you. I’m not pretty.”

Axl didn’t know how to respond. “You’re plenty pretty, mate. What makes you say that?”

“No, no I’m not.” Zappa hunched over, wrapping arms around himself and looking down. “I’m not like those girls you’re always rushing off to talk to. I’m not gentle or soft or anything. I’m all jagged and sharp and scraped up.”

“You don’t hafta-”

“I don’t know why you bothered being so nice to me. Everyone else just beat me up and left me in the woods. Why do you keep putting in all this effort for me? I’m not worth it. I’m not nice or pretty like you are.”

Zappa leaned back against the countertop, sighing. “I cause so much trouble for you. You should be off enjoying your life and instead you’re dragging my sorry ass cross-country. And sometimes I just straight-up lose it and you have to tie me down until I stop trying to kill everything. I just don’t get it. I’m really not worth all that.”

Axl leveled a calm stare at his companion. The room was quiet for several minutes, aside from Zappa’s nervous shuffling.

“I don’t get it either.” Axl said. “What makes you think you’re not worth it?” Before Zappa could say anything, he continued. “Why do you even think that you have to be ‘worth it?’ Why do you feel like you don’t deserve basic kindness?”

“But Axl, I…”

“Look, I’ll admit, sometimes it can be a bit tricky. But I’m sure as hell not leaving you like this all on your own. You shouldn’t have to do this by yourself.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Don’t feel like that’s something you have to earn.”

Zappa gave him a nervous look. “So...you’re not mad at me?”

“Damn it, you bloody idiot…” Axl covered his eyes with a hand.

“Huh?”

“Why would I be mad at you for this? You’re sick. It’s not something you have any control over. It’d be like getting pissed at someone for having the flu. You get the absolute shit kicked out of you and you honestly think that’s something I’d be upset with you over?” He gave Zappa a sharp look. “Don’t answer that. The answer’s no.”

“Oh.”

“C’mon, mate, don’t treat yourself like that.” Axl put a hand on the other’s shoulder, making him flinch. “And don’t treat me like that, either. I’m not perfect.”

Zappa didn’t reply, merely looking at the floor. Axl took another half-step closer and reached out, tracing one of the branching scars with a thin finger.

“W-what are you doing?” Zappa stammered, turning a little pink.

“Reminds me of something.” He traced the line down Zappa’s side. “Megumi used to have this old bowl at home. All cracked-looking and busted. And all along the cracks, it was shiny and golden.

One day I got curious. Asked her what it was all about. And she told me, when she was a kid, she’d dropped it off a shelf and broken it into bits. But instead of tossing it, they put all the pieces back together with a sorta shiny glue. Apparently it was a thing in Japan. ‘Kintsugi’ or something like that. 

But anyway, the bowl wasn’t the point, she said. They could easily have just fixed it without the gold, or gotten a new one. But making the cracks all shiny was all about knowing that it was broken, but making that part of the story. It wasn’t about hiding the damage. Being damaged was a part of making it what it is.”

He flicked his eyes up to Zappa’s, to enunciate his point. “See what I’m saying?”

“I...I suppose?” The man looked unconvinced.

“We’ve all got scars. Part of what makes us who we are. Yours are just a lot more visible. Hell, I’ve got plenty of my own. Like I said, I’m not perfect.”

“I still don’t buy that.” Zappa looked a bit more convinced, but the was still some skepticism. “I mean, you’re kind, you’re strong, you’re gorgeous-”

Axl let out a bemused chuckle. “I’m a mess, mate. Even back in my own time I didn’t have my act together. I’m reckless as hell sometimes, I get into a lotta scuffles just because I don’t have my head on right. Now, you?” He pointed a finger. “You, I’m jealous of.”

“Wha- me?” Skepticism turned into downright disbelief. “ _How?!_ ”

“Do you even realize how much shit you go through?” He asked. “I can’t prove anything, but it’s possible that you literally have ghosts hijacking your body. Even if that isn’t it, you’ve still got some freaky illness with no known source or cure that makes you lose it and wake up without knowing _anything_ that happened. If I was you, I probably would have gone off the deep end a long time ago. But here you are, never giving up. You get the crap knocked out of you and you just keep kicking, keep looking for a cure.”

“I…I guess I never really thought about it that way.”

“Well, start.” Replied Axl, giving a firm nod. “That kinda willpower is in short supply.”

Zappa sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t get why you say that to me. I’m just a nobody. Zappa isn’t anything impressive.”

“Don’t have to be.” The Brit reached out, offering another tight squeeze. “Besides,” he whispered into the other’s ear. “I think Zappa’s plenty impressive.”

Zappa buried his face into his shoulder, and Axl didn’t even need to see to know that he had gone red. Muffled against the fabric, he asked “even though I look like this?”

“Like what? I think you’re adorable as-is.”

The grip tightened, accompanied by an embarrassed squeak, and Axl couldn’t help but laugh again. 

“I...I always wanted you to flirt with me. Like those girls you always chat with. I wanted you to think I was pretty like them.”

“Ahh, don’t do that.” Axl reached up to ruffle his hair. “Comparing yourself won’t ever make you happy. There’s nothing wrong with just being Zappa.”

The man pulled away from his shoulder, face a bright red. Axl smiled in turn, tracing his jawline with a hand.

“But if you would like a little flirting, how about you accompany me to bed? It is late as hell.”

At that, Zappa snorted and doubled over, snickering. “Y-you- really? God, t-that’s-”

“Eh, what can I say?” Axl shrugged nonchalantly. “I have a way with words.”

“You’re ridiculous, is what you are.” Zappa shook his head with a smile. “Alright, you win. Sure you don’t mind?”

“Why would I? To be honest, I thought it was gonna be so much harder to talk you into bed with me.”

“Oh my Gooood.” The pink tinge came back, and Zappa covered his face.

“Heh. C’mon, mate. Gotta get plenty of sleep if we’re gonna find Faust.”

He nodded. “Right. You’re right. Okay.”

The two made their way out of the bathroom and back to bed. One climbed in on each side and huddled up. After a bit of maneuvering, Axl wound up sprawled out, legs jutting in two different directions, one arm looped around Zappa’s shoulders. Zappa was huddled into his side, one arm across the other’s chest with the other tangled in Axl’s long hair. 

For once, it almost felt easy to nod off. Just before slipping away, though, Axl felt a slight movement against his side, and Zappa spoke up.

“Axl?”

“Yeah, mate?”

“Thank you.”


End file.
